From a childhood encounter at a political rally to navigating workplace dynamics, an individual’s journey unveils lessons in equality and empathy

The then Prime Minister was to address a public rally in Ghaziabad. My father, posted as the head of the electricity department in the city, was responsible for the electrical arrangements at the venue. He took us to listen to her speech from a vantage point.

I do not remember the speech. What I do remember is that my father came back immediately after the event ended and rushed us from the venue. He kept looking back surreptitiously, asking us to walk faster. I was to learn that a supervisor working under my father and wanting to make a good impression, was also pursuing us to introduce his family. Much later, at a more mature age, I could understand that this was an incidence of class discrimination prevalent in our society.

I was to learn quite a few life-altering lessons a few years later as I joined Indian railway services.

During my first posting in Calcutta, I was asked to study an old machine and propose measures to improve its productivity, taking the assistance of an experienced supervisor. The two of us spent innumerable hours studying the machine. I became an apprentice to a more knowledgeable person, even though he was lower in the hierarchy. Then and even later in my subsequent postings, or even after I quit an active professional life, I learnt a lot about handling work-related issues and even man management, from my junior colleagues, by not dwelling on the so-called finer nuances of a superior status.

I also learnt empathy for others. In yet another posting, as a branch head, I was approached by irate union leaders who complained about the rude language by a junior colleague. His fault was that he had used the term tum to address a worker rather than the more respectable aap. This was Bengal, where everyone is expected to use a respectful salutation when talking to another person, whatever the status.

I tried to assuage the hurt sentiments by pointing out that the junior colleague came from north India where it was a common practice to use the more affectionate tum even while addressing parents. The representatives were not done. They pointed out that I was always respectful even though I was from the same region. This was another lesson learnt, never to be forgotten, about the futility of status discrimination.

We were visiting relatives a few days back. My wife’s uncle, now nearing 80, narrated a recent experience. He had gone to some office for work, where a much younger person jumped the queue. The uncle objected which was rudely brushed aside by the young man, “How is it material? Have I pointed a gun at you?” This was a status discrimination of another kind - a perceived superiority of the youth against old age. Or was it the gun power?

We ought to remember what Nelson Mandela said, “No one is born hating another person because of the colour of his skin, or his background, or his religion. People must learn to hate and if they can learn to hate, they can be taught to love, for love comes more naturally to the human heart than its opposite.”

(The author is an electrical engineer with the Indian Railways and conducts classes in creative writing; views are personal)